


Paradiso

by JHarkness



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: --sort of. establish sexual relationship is more accurate., Established Relationship, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 09:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12909147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHarkness/pseuds/JHarkness
Summary: Matt touched Frank’s dogtags to his lips and sighed.'Sometimes I hear you,' he wrote on the back of a random file he found in the office; 'sometimes I hear your heartbeat.'He taped it to Frank’s grave.Matt leaves a note for Frank on his grave, friends are found, and Hell's Kitchen falls apart.





	Paradiso

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short bit to keep me writing fic while finals are going on (I specify fics because I have about 10000 essays to write so I absolutely can't focus on research and my longer works right now). Punisher was really, really good, but I had to go back and watch Daredevil Season 2 because I missed Matt. This is my contribution to some canon time we are missing, chiefly between DDS2 and Defenders as well as post-Defenders. I might add more chapters as it strikes me but for now this is a one-shot.

Matt touched Frank’s dog tags to his lips and sighed.

_Sometimes I hear you_ , he wrote on the back of a random file he found in the office; _sometimes I hear your heartbeat._

He taped it to Frank’s grave.

It was after Elektra died, but before Matt met Jessica Jones. He could offer no other name for it than _purgatory_ . He was Dante, sinning in love, following Virgil until he could have Beatrice. But Dante’s Beatrice was a guide, present to take him on his journey to God. Matt’s Beatrice was a ghost. _Frank_ , he thought to himself when it occurred to him, _would kill me if he knew I called him Beatrice_. Compared to waiting, it seemed a better alternative.

He left more notes. One night, after leaving a particularly explicit one that he had turned back to get after disrupting a small-scale robbery a few miles away, he finally saw his ghost. Frank was using a flashlight to read the hastily-written smut. When he finished, he folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Damn, Red,” he whispered, voice a little hoarse. Frank cleared his throat and Matt thought-- _this is what it will be always. I can listen to you breathe from the shadows but I can never have you_.

One day, he heard Frank’s heartbeat in a building he was passing over. Full-stop; it was almost embarrassing, like the shame that comes from missing a turn and peeling into it, tires screaming. Not that he’d ever done that. He’d just been in the passenger seat when Foggy was driving.

Matt pressed himself flat against the roof and listened. There were only two men in the room, and Frank was one of them. He just made out “Hey, Curtis,” before zoning in on Frank. His heartbeat was a strong and steady rhythm.

“I don’t suppose you--” he started, and the other guy, Curtis, interrupted; “What, have more notes from your secret admirer?” He laughed. Matt tried not to be annoyed that he was talking. “Or not so secret. That one last week?”

“You read that, huh?” Frank didn’t sound ashamed. Matt smiled.

Curtis chuckled again. “Didn’t read the whole thing, though. There’s a reason I left that one for you to pick up.” There was a pause, a shuffle that Matt figured was a hug, and then Curtis’ muffled voice, “It’s good to see you. In person. Delivering love notes to an old mailbox makes me feel like a creeper.”

When Matt visited Frank’s grave that night, there was a sheet of paper where his usual notes went. On it--in braille--was an address. Matt knew what it was before he’d even read the street number; Frank’s childhood apartment, used as a safe house since his parents had died. His past all bottled up in one place. The invitation felt sacred, and Matt tucked the paper into his boot so he wouldn’t lose it on the streets. He went that very night, slipped something through the slot under the door-- _tomorrow._

Matt went home thinking of his body curving beneath Frank’s. _Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow_ was a chanted prayer on his breath as much as _Frank_ , the words almost nothing more than air while he touched himself where Frank would touch him, while he touched himself where he would touch Frank. He wondered how many new scars he had to learn.

But with _tomorrow_ came Jessica Jones, and with Jessica Jones, defending his city, and Matt missed more than his night with Frank. He didn’t leave any more notes. He didn’t receive any, either. He saw Curtis once and wondered what would happen if he stopped. Shaking the idea away, he chastised himself for his stupidity. _What would you say, Matt? Hi, I’m Matt Murdock, the one leaving notes on your friend’s grave about how much I want to suck his cock, nice to meet you._ He kept walking.

Dante got his _paradiso_. Matt did not. Matt got blood and darkness and tons of concrete that told him it was time to just _let go_. He decided dying to give Elektra her chance at something better than this half-life was a good way to go. When he woke surrounded by sunlight, nuns, and quiet prayers, he realized someone else had disagreed.

“Don’t talk,” a sister insisted when he tried to do just that, and he obeyed immediately despite the protests building in his chest. She smiled kindly.

“It’s good you’re awake,” she said, and the other women around her nodded. One of them added, “Maybe he’ll finally get some rest,” and Matt was planning to tell her he was sure he’d rested enough when Frank walked through the door.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Matt knew Frank’s heartbeat almost better than his own at that point. He reached out to take Frank’s hand as he walked slowly over to Matt’s bed, each step deliberately quiet, and then Matt felt rough fingers grasping for his own. Frank grunted a little with embarrassment, and Matt realized the sisters were still in the room. He had forgotten about them. He loosened his grip on Frank’s hand to pull away. Frank held onto him tighter.

With his free hand, Frank pulled something--two things, Matt realized, metal and paper--out of his pocket. He placed them gently on Matt’s chest. Matt picked up the dog tags reverently before sliding them up his chest so that Frank’s name rested against the hollow of his throat. Then, he picked up the paper. It was a note in braille. Fighting tears, he ran his thumb over the words written there:

_Still waiting on tomorrow, but--I’ll settle for today._


End file.
